All Rise...

Editor's Note

The Charge

"May be the greatest film ever made."—Georgia Brown,
Village Voice

Opening Statement

L'Atalante may not be the greatest film ever made, but it is
undoubtedly among the greatest. Its masterful artistry is self-evident. The film
is a jewel of parsimony, with no dead spots or unnecessary detail.
L'Atalante's genius is fully on par with great films such as Citizen Kane, but it is imminently
approachable. This approachability combined with unique imagery makes
L'Atalante an arguably more successful film.

L'Atalante is undeniably art, but it feels effortless and
approachable. It is the embodiment of a dream, a touching story of love and
life. Those who appreciate cinematic mastery will likely fall in love with it.
Those who can barely tolerate such weighty classics as Citizen Kane, take
heart: L'Atalante is a classic film that may charm you.

Facts of the Case

I hereby present the facts of the case, with one caution: L'Atalante's
beauty and strength are inadequately represented in a description of the plot.
As Desson Howe wrote in his 1990 Washington Post review, "A
bloodless description of Jean Vigo's L'Atalante would indicate a black
and white French film, made in 1934, featuring a mundane boy-girl plot, a
collection of French songs and a barge. But similar scrutiny would define a
pearl as a layered piece of grit." The plot is simply a framework for
haunting imagery, poignant humanity, and rich symbolic content.

Jean (Jean Dasté) and Juliette (Dita Parlo) get married in her prosaic
village, to the lament of her distraught mother. Forgoing any celebration or
reception, the pair immediately board Jean's river barge, L'Atalante. They sail
off down the river with Jean's crew: a crusty first mate (Jules, played by
Michel Simon) and a young deck hand.

Juliette struggles to adapt to this strange new environment. She exerts
control over her circumstances by doing the laundry and shooing away the
ubiquitous cats. But she soon grows bored and restless. Jean tries to find a
balance between managing the barge and pleasing his new bride. Papa Jules is
dismayed by the upset balance of the ship. He both threatens and fawns over
Juliette. The story centers around the complex relationship between these
three.

When Juliette is beguiled by the charms of Paris, Jean believes he has lost
her. L'Atalante sets sail, leaving Juliette to her own devices. But the decision
gnaws at Jean, eating him away to a shell of his self. Jules knows that
something must be done to restore balance to L'Atalante.

The Evidence

You don't need to know the intricate history of L'Atalante in order to
appreciate the film. Although it is nearly 70 years old, L'Atalante has a
surprisingly modern aesthetic. The story is timeless, the symbolism deeply
rooted in humanity. Anyone who has known love or curiosity about new
environments can be drawn in by the spell of this sophisticatedly simple
story.

But knowing the history does add layers to the viewing. Perhaps the most
important element to understand is the man behind the story. L'Atalante
is Jean Vigo's one and only feature length film in a short body of work. Jean
was the son of a notorious French anarchist who died in prison. Prior to making
L'Atalante, Vigo created a short film called Zero for Conduct.
This film horrified the French cinema authorities, who decried its subversive
anarchist bent. Zero for Conduct was banned from view for over 13 years.
The wary eyes of the authorities and studio were intently focused on the
production of L'Atalante. But that was the least of Vigo's problems. Vigo
knew that he was dying. He was certain (though others didn't know) that
L'Atalante was going to be his first and last feature film. It was his
one chance to make a statement about humanity, his defining artistic moment.
Directing from a stretcher in a feverish stupor, Vigo poured the full measure of
his soul into the film. He died days after the film closed at the age of 29. To
say the least, L'Atalante was created under intense circumstances.

The resulting film was so unsettling that it took half a century for
the original cut of the film to be shown. Before it was even released, censors
shredded L'Atalante. Parisian audiences met the neutered
"happy" version with disdain, offended at the insightful portrayal of
Paris. Truth can hurt; while L'Atalante was being shown for the first
time, anarchists were rebelling in Europe, people were dying of hunger and cold
in Paris, and deep corruption in the economic and political systems of France
was uncovered. The deceptively inoffensive story did not mask Vigo's piercing
social commentary.

L'Atalante suffered edit after edit, becoming nearly unrecognizable.
Even in such a state, it garnered critical acclaim. The discovery of a 1934 cut
of the film in a British vault in 1990 gave hope to those who wanted Vigo's
version restored.

L'Atalante has deeply influenced such disparate artists as Truffaut
and Madonna. Truffaut summarized his thoughts on the visionary film in a simple
statement: "When Jean Vigo shot L'Atalante…he achieved
perfection, he made a masterpiece." Madonna's homage is more personal. She
based her notorious book Sex on the personae Vigo imbued into the
seductive Juliette. Madonna was so impressed with Dita Parlo that she had the
initials "D.P." engraved into her gold tooth.

It was only in 2001, after a careful restoration and re-creation, that
Vigo's original vision was realized. The current version of L'Atalante is
not actually the intended edit of the film. First, Vigo died before he could
make the final cut. Second, the current version is a best guess culled from the
1990 find and 30 hours of unedited rushes and outtakes. It is as close as we
will likely ever come. And now, the film has been brought to us on DVD.

So much for the back story, what is the film like? L'Atalante has a
singular cinematic fingerprint. Though the entire story is told with complete
realism, it feels dreamlike and surreal. Lyrical and hypnotic, the film draws
you in with languid sensibility.

The cinematography certainly contributes to the dreamlike quality. Cameraman
Boris Kaufman is responsible for this humbling work of art. Impressive contrast,
poetic lighting, and impeccable composition combine to form an indescribably
delicate whole. In rewatching L'Atalante, I paused frequently to observe
the quality of the image. Though I paused almost at random, each still frame
spoke its own story. The stills from this film could compete in any photography
exhibit. Bold shadows, dramatic textures, interplays of light and dark, and
fascinating compositions elevate the photography from mere storytelling to
irrefutable art. And this is while paused. When the picture comes alive again,
the movement is a current of fantastic imagery.

Imagery is only part of the story. Jean Vigo's direction imbues each scene
with submerged meaning that is more telling than the surface suggests. Let's
look at an example.

Juliette rebuffs Jean's clumsy attempt to consummate their union, and flees
to the other end of the barge through the fog. Her walk down the barge may be
one of the most memorable shots in film history. Dita Parlo glides, naïve
and wraithlike, along the rusty iron deck of the barge. The white silk of her
dress flutters in the wind, clinging to her from the spray of the water. Barely
visible against the stormy gray sky are imposing silhouettes of bridges and
buildings. Anonymous vessels churn the water aside L'Atalante. She reaches the
end of the vessel, stands erect and radiant, and peers into the gloomy fog.

Jean cautiously works his way down the barge to find Juliette. Along the
way, he disturbs three sleeping pussycats. They attack him and leave claw marks
on his face. When Jean reaches Juliette, she detachedly evaluates him. She takes
in his bowed head, bleeding face, and air of remorseful concern. She relents and
attacks him with a rain of kisses, fondling and kissing the blood on his cheek.
They descend into the cabin below.

This relatively straightforward sequence contains a wealth of meaning. On
one level, it quickly establishes the struggles of newlywed couples to find a
comfort level. Man approaches wife and is rebuffed. He approaches her later with
a new attitude and is accepted. Now consider the symbolism of space. He tries to
have sex with her on one end of the boat, "his" end, the realm of man.
Juliette rejects that end of the boat and takes a solitary journey to a new
place, the "female" end of the barge. Jean stumbles and feels his way
to the female side to meet Juliette on her terms. Along the way, he is attacked
by a symbol of female sexuality. He emerges on the female side a different man,
tamed by the pussycat. Only then do they consummate. Even that deep meaning is
not the end of the symbolism. Juliette is only stimulated when Jean is bleeding
and cowered. This sadomasochistic element introduces complex shades of meaning
to Juliette's character. There is a lot going on, but this sequence only
represents about two minutes of real life on the barge.

The entire film is like this. You can enjoy it on the surface level and be
rewarded with a moving tale of young lovers discovering the truth of love. You
can open yourself to the symbolic meaning of L'Atalante and be rewarded
with rich subtext. Furthermore, you can delve deeply into powerful personal and
human symbolism, reading a fundamental message into the work. As true art,
L'Atalante both invites and sustains complex and varied
interpretation.

Like the cinematography, the characters are compelling and masterful but
only contribute part of the whole. The story appears to center around the
couple. Jean is typically considered the male lead and Juliette the female lead.
Critics praise Michel Simon's portrayal of Papa Jules as one of the standout
supporting roles in the history of cinema. But I believe Jules is the main
character in L'Atalante. He is the first person shown; in classic
theatrical parlance, that makes him the central figure of the work. He also
undergoes the most conflict. Finally, he takes the pivotal actions in the film.
Jules is not a supporting figure, he is a main (perhaps the main)
character.

Michel Simon brings Jules to life in an inspired performance. Papa Jules is
enigmatic, charming, and indescribably complex. On the surface, he is gruff and
dull, a forest of stubble on a bigger chin than Bruce Campbell's. Jules is
almost childlike in his simplistic behavior. He frets like a mother hen to make
Juliette's arrival aboard L'Atalante perfect. One senses that he does it not for
Juliette's sake, but for Jean's. He plays the concertina and your heart leaps
with unrestrained levity, yet he sulks and broods with ominous violence. Jules
seems to be both subordinate to Jean and a mentor. He is a father figure but
needs to be scolded and disciplined like a child. He is lustful; his sensual
openness inexplicably seduces women. Yet you sense that his love is reserved for
men.

Dita Parlo and Jean Dasté are no slouches either. The two generate
believable chemistry and believable conflict. Palo is radiant. You long to hold
her. Jean is remarkable as a stereotypically reticent man, but we respect him
for the efforts he makes. The pleasure and pain of each character is
discernable. You may find yourself nodding in sympathy with all three sides of
this human triangle.

The scene in Jules' cabin is one of the greatest scenes I've ever witnessed
due to its psychological complexity and seductive undercurrent. Jules snaps on
deck, howling about "all that kissing." He lumbers below in a cloud of
rage to find Juliette bent over the sewing machine. Jules intends to have it out
with Juliette. We fear for her psychological and physical well-being. Juliette
is blithely unaware of Jules' hostility and the real danger she is in. Instead
of reacting with caution or defensiveness, Juliette regards Jules with unguarded
warmth and flirtation. Jules is disarmed in the bright rays of Juliette's
feminine warmth. He gruffly informs her that she's messing up the dress, so
Juliette asks him to "Be my mannequin." In short order, Jules is
standing still while Juliette wraps a skirt around his waist. The request to
"be my mannequin" works on both a literal and figurative level. The
salty sailor in a skirt is a powerful sexual image.

Jules reasserts himself through a different tactic. He sits down at the
machine and competently sews the hem. With that simple gesture, he demonstrates
his comfort with the female realm. Juliette becomes immediately fascinated.

Jules takes her into his cabin. The cabin is filled with treasures from
around the world: European music boxes, a handmade Japanese fan, an African
elephant tusk. Each treasure reveals more about Jules' history and ability. He
"got in some trouble" with a lady in Singapore. (Is the downtrodden
deck hand his son, perhaps?) He reminisces about a "friend" who we
sense meant more to him.

Juliette notices a puppet booth and toys with the puppet man. Jules offers
to give her a show. The puppet comes to life in a grotesquely fascinating rictus
of movement. The horror is inexplicable, but that shot stuck in my mind like a
dark shadow. When the puppet dropped to the stage, I felt palpable relief.

Juliette looks at a bookshelf. Our view is from the other side of the shelf.
Concealed behind some books we see a pair of human hands floating in a jar. Her
back is turned to Jules and he looms behind her in the darkness. She shifts some
books, and we know she is about to uncover the hands. In a rush of dread, Jules'
menace and implied violence pour back into our consciousness. What will he do to
Juliette? That moment passes, but we are left with a new riddle to ponder. The
hands belonged to Jules "friend," and this is all that is left of
him.

Before long, Juliette has Jules stripped down to the waist so she can see
his tattoos. Jules is seducing her with his charm and history, while Juliette is
seducing him with curiosity and a definite flutter of her eyelashes. Jules
tickles her by inserting a cigarette into his belly button and undulating his
belly. They laugh and sit down on the bed together. What will happen? Jean
storms in and the mood shifts radically.

This sequence is rife with meaning and sultry tension. Again, it isn't what
is happening so much as what it means and how the characters interact. Jules and
Juliette never actually have sexual contact, but the air is heavy with sexual
tension. Objects have long taken on significance as powerful symbols in both
literature and cinema: Rosebud in Citizen Kane, the paperweight in
1984. In Jules' cabin, every item drips with layers of meaning. It is
simply amazing. When Jean comes in and begins smashing Jules' things, the sense
of loss is tangible.

I've briefly discussed the sensuality in L'Atalante. The entire film
is suffused with erotic nuances. Dita Parlo seduces and is seduced by men, life,
the city of Paris, but most of all her true love Jean. When she emerges fresh
faced and sleepy from below deck after a night of passion, greeted by a serenade
from the crew, it took my breath away. Her casually erect nipples, touchable
windblown hair, and carnal delight at nibbling on Jean's ear while whispering
erotic nothings is one of the most believable depictions of young lust I've ever
seen. Later, the two are separated and have feverish dreams of longing for each
other. Juliette languidly fondles her own breasts while Jean sucks on his bicep.
Juliette parts her knees and we fade to Jean's head, superimposed over her body.
The two writhe in place, psychically connected by lust and longing.

Love and eroticism are certainly not the only themes hidden within this
powerful narrative. L'Atalante tempts you with its narcotic scent,
encouraging you to discern its meaning. Themes of innocence, strife, corruption,
bisexuality, rage, authority, and pride permeate the film.

L'Atalante is one of the early "talkies"; the film is very
old. The image has many flaws: nicks, scratches, persistent lines down the
center, jitter, and a host of other problems. However, given the age of the
print, the transfer is fantastic. Contrast and black levels are amazing. The
cinematography is simply unbelievable.

Sonically, the film has similar problems. The mono soundtrack is often
muffled, dialogue is harsh. But again, the absolute mastery of the soundtrack
erases such concerns. Maurice Jaubert has composed a dreamy melody that shifts
with and enhances the moods of the scenes. There wasn't a misstep in the score.
Each note seemed to vibrate in perfect synergy with the film.

L'Atalante fires on all cylinders. But the best part is the whole is
still greater.

The Rebuttal Witnesses

I had an issue with the extras. Two of the extras are comprised of static
images. They ran as a slideshow, with no way to pause and absorb each photo or
poster. This lack of control was frustrating. The featurette gives great insight
into the film, as do the thorough liner notes.

After my unbridled fawning, it would be understandable for you to expect
something more dramatic. Remember that Vigo was purposefully obfuscating the
sexual and subversive elements of the film to pass the censor board. The
insights I gleaned were after careful thought and analysis. On the surface,
L'Atalante is a relatively plain story of boy meets girl, loses girl, and
so forth. Explaining its powerful mystique is like trying to explain a dream.
You have to be more forceful than the dream events require to get across the
idea. After all I've said here, my real advice is "just watch it."

Closing Statement

There is so much more to say. This film rewards viewers in every way. If you
appreciate finer points of cinema, L'Atalante is a whole world of delight
awaiting your exploration.

The Verdict

Jean Vigo and all of his cohorts are given the best wishes of this court. It
is refreshing to remember that cinema was once about art and humanity.